Private Moments #55 : If Truth Could Be Told

private moments in paintings & poetry
Private Moments #55: If Truth Could Be Told
Poem by Jennifer Kiley
Painting by Jk McCormack
Post Created DATE 2014
Posted On Monday 31st March 2014

Private Writings: Chapter #55 — It’s Wrong For the Right Reasons

treasures of golden dreams (c) JkM 2014

Treasures of Broken Dreams (c) Madison Taylor 2008

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~

hands reaching out into rain

If Truth Could Be Told
Poem by Madison Taylor
22nd September 2008

Well, fuck them
If they can be so cruel
To abandon you
When you most need them

Fuck her.
The “her” is,
Well, she is
The $5 Billion Dollar Q & A.

Name anyone
And you could say
They have contributed
To your surrender.

Living in secret.
Living in fear
Of living.
Living in fear
Of loving.
Living in fear
Of Life.

Living in fear
Of Trust stolen
From you
So many times
In the Sacrifice.

Living in fear
Of Death
But only
When Death
Is a threat.

When it is sweet,
Sweet like the feelings
Of the deepest

Carrying you
As though
In a coffin
Through the rocking
Of death.

The finality
Of Death
Is Living.

But when you try
To take
The living out
Of your own self
And enter Death
Without being called
To it properly

It causes
All sorts
Of people
To get all weird
And concerned.

When truthfully
No one
G. A. S.

No One Really Cares…

© Madison Taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

garden waterfall private gazebo overgrown 4pmip&p “Doorway to a Place of Enchantment”

* * * * * * *

“Creating is having the courage
to allow the seer into the private
moments of our imaginative lives.”
— JkM the secret keeper
aka Jennifer Kiley McCormack

* * * * * * *

the opposite of loneliness

University | 3:10 a.m. | May. 27, 2012 | By Marina Keegan

KEEGAN: The Opposite of Loneliness

Marina Keegan Yale Class of 2012 – died at age 22

Marina Keegan ’12. Photo by Facebook.

The piece below was written by Marina Keegan ’12 for a special edition of the News distributed at the class of 2012’s commencement exercises last week. Keegan died in a car accident on Saturday. She was 22.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life. What I’m grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I’m scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow and leave this place.

It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at the table. When it’s four a.m. and no one goes to bed. That night with the guitar. That night we can’t remember. That time we did, we went, we saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.

Yale is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. A cappella groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest nights when we stumble home to our computers — partner-less, tired, awake. We won’t have those next year. We won’t live on the same block as all our friends. We won’t have a bunch of group-texts.

This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse – I’m scared of losing this web we’re in. This elusive, indefinable, opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now.

But let us get one thing straight: the best years of our lives are not behind us. They’re part of us and they are set for repetition as we grow up and move to New York and away from New York and wish we did or didn’t live in New York. I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from clichéd “should haves…” “if I’d…” “wish I’d…”

Of course, there are things we wished we did: our readings, that boy across the hall. We’re our own hardest critics and it’s easy to let ourselves down. Sleeping too late. Procrastinating. Cutting corners. More than once I’ve looked back on my High School self and thought: how did I do that? How did I work so hard? Our private insecurities follow us and will always follow us.

But the thing is, we’re all like that. Nobody wakes up when they want to. Nobody did all of their reading (except maybe the crazy people who win the prizes…) We have these impossibly high standards and we’ll probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves. But I feel like that’s okay.

We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement.

When we came to Yale, there was this sense of possibility. This immense and indefinable potential energy – and it’s easy to feel like that’s slipped away. We never had to choose and suddenly we’ve had to. Some of us have focused ourselves. Some of us know exactly what we want and are on the path to get it; already going to med school, working at the perfect NGO, doing research. To you I say both congratulations and you suck.

For most of us, however, we’re somewhat lost in this sea of liberal arts. Not quite sure what road we’re on and whether we should have taken it. If only I had majored in biology…if only I’d gotten involved in journalism as a freshman…if only I’d thought to apply for this or for that…

What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over. Get a post-bac or try writing for the first time. The notion that it’s too late to do anything is comical. It’s hilarious. We’re graduating college. We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.

In the heart of a winter Friday night my freshman year, I was dazed and confused when I got a call from my friends to meet them at EST EST EST. Dazedly and confusedly, I began trudging to SSS, probably the point on campus farthest away. Remarkably, it wasn’t until I arrived at the door that I questioned how and why exactly my friends were partying in Yale’s administrative building. Of course, they weren’t. But it was cold and my ID somehow worked so I went inside SSS to pull out my phone. It was quiet, the old wood creaking and the snow barely visible outside the stained glass. And I sat down. And I looked up. At this giant room I was in. At this place where thousands of people had sat before me. And alone, at night, in the middle of a New Haven storm, I felt so remarkably, unbelievably safe.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I’d say that’s how I feel at Yale. How I feel right now. Here. With all of you. In love, impressed, humbled, scared. And we don’t have to lose that.

We’re in this together, 2012. Let’s make something happen to this world.


by jennifer kiley
(follow to the next post: “this is all too familiar” and it will help to understand why i choose to exhibit this post. thank you.)

the opposite of loneliness is to have an open heart, and to let love in freely and continuously, no matter the pain that the joy of love can bring.

RIP all those who are taken too soon. who do not get to live out a full and complete life. who knows what would have been that can never be?

forever young – alphaville

“you’re still you”

“you’re still you”

by jen kiley

sometimes i don’t feel i will get to that place where i will be happy. tonight i’m in a bad place. listening to music. working on a poem. working on my manuscript. looking for some sort of release from the pain but it just feels like it’s getting worse the more i try to release it. it’s not just an emotional pain but a physical pain also. the words of the songs i’m listening to just echo my feelings and thoughts. they make me feel over the edge when emotions get so painful. i need my former therapist to work through this but she’s not here. it overshadows the rest of my life and the issues i need to work on. this is the other side of manic, a full blown state of deep in depth depression. the kind that makes me feel suicidal. i know i will not kill myself but baring this kind of pain feels like too much to endure. “i’m holding on but i’m barely holding on to you” “i’m falling apart, i’m barely breathing, with a broken heart, that’s still beating” i have such a weight on my chest. i’m holding on til morning. maybe a new day when it’s light out will give me a better perspective and i’ll go back to burying my feelings and i won’t miss her so much but then this feeling will always return when i least expect it and grab me by the throat and want me to die. bipolar is the bitch that controls me and all those people i love(d) that died on me or abandoned me they will continue to haunt me. the thing is i don’t want them to go away. i want them all to return. after death will we all be reunited? not now but in the future. her life goes on without me and i don’t feel like i would ever fit in when the time came when it would be alright. i don’t feel optimistic that it ever will be alright. all these brain disorders that i have. my history of abuse and the fact that i am not mad but feel as though i could slip into madness ever so easily. fighting the demons that possess me at times. they find their way to the page through my writings, my poems. is exposing them to the light the only way to have an exorcism? writing releases some of the pressure. it did feel like the valve was stuck and i was about to explode inside. tears filled my eyes earlier. i cried from missing her. why do we miss people when they are gone? i know i love her. i’m pretty sure i am in love with her. but i am not in a position to be able to tell her what i feel or what i am thinking. that is where the frustration lies. and even if i did tell her i am sure there is a strong possibility of pure unadulterated rejection. she is straight and i am a lesbian and there is nothing for us. there can be nothing for us. just some ravings from someone who has a touch of the divine madness of a manic depressive with other issues that become too involved to write about now.

you’re still you – josh groban